


Till Death Do Us Part

by shouldhavebeenpersephone



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, Character Death, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I Had To Ok I Am Sorry, Major Character Injury, Please Be Warned This Will Hurt, The Vibe Is Spain Without The S, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29769099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldhavebeenpersephone/pseuds/shouldhavebeenpersephone
Summary: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CRITICAL ROLE CAMPAIGN 2 EPISODE 123 and also for before so like unless you've finished 123, get out of here.What if Yasha had failed that contested strength check and Lucien had killed Beauregard?
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & The Mighty Nein, Beauregard Lionett & Yasha, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, The Mighty Nein & Yasha
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	Till Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw something about someone wondering what would have happened if Beau had died because of Lucien in ep 123 in the Beauyasha tag and my brain would not leave it alone so here is a fic. I cannot justify this so enjoy and be warned, this is probably going to hurt. A lot.
> 
> Also, keep in mind that Yasha cannot die while raging but will go down after her rage wears down xxx

As Lucien’s long fingers that once coaxed delicate braids into Yasha’s hair wrapped themselves around Beauregard’s throat, a rage unlike Yasha had felt in a long time started to spark in her stomach.

Yasha felt it twist, a larger sensation now in her polymorphed body. _I will kill him_ she wanted to shout but all that was heard was the screech of an owl. Desperation was setting in as her mind travelled to the darkest spots her brain could muster, an anger fuelled by so much sorrow was freshly foreign; it ached like an old broken bone in stormy weather, like a sprain mostly gone but never truly better. _I will kill him_ , she thought, _if he dares take her from me_.

As blood poured from Beauregard’s eyes, she found herself praying; _please let this not be the end._ A flash of distant lightning crackled as if it carried an answer.

It wasn’t.

Relief washed over Yasha upon hearing the persistent choking sounds coming from Beauregard as she dove down, without considering the anti-magic field or cone or whatever the fuck it was. She dove down, talons out, Veth holding on for dear life on her back, and she grabbed at Beau and her talons were… empty. She had felt Beau’s form in her hands, had felt the tug of her weight and felt it slip out within the same seconds.

_Fuck._

Her body was going numb now, struggling to keep herself airborne. She filled her gigantic lungs as if to pump herself so full the tug at her gut would be forced out. As she circled back to dive again her now sharper eyes found Lucien once again and, in his hands, …

_No._

No, this could not be happening, no that could NOT be the lifeless body of Beau, of their monk, of HER monk. No. That would not do.

Rage took over Yasha’s mind as she was blinded by her new goal at hand. That man was going down. No force on earth, mortal or celestial, could stop her now. She felt like crying and even more so as her ears were met with a screech rather than a scream, her breath quickening in the icy winds of this wasteland.

In yet another reckless action, Yasha dropped her owl form, mighty and furious feet planting themselves right behind Lucien. Either she would kill Lucien right then and there or she would be the one to not walk away from this.

How could she have been so foolish to let Beau down on the ground at all? How could she have left her alone? If only she had been next to her, this would not have happened. Gods, the things she would give just to exchange her own standing there with the crumpled sack of skin and bones that were left of Beauregard.

Her eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness, reaching back her palm was met with the familiar grip of her double-handed sword. _Fuck this._

As she took her first swing, she could feel the blood rush to her head. As she took her second swing, she could no longer hear the roaring of the battle around her. Veth’s soaring arrows, Lucien’s swings, Cree’s spells, Caleb’s desperate calls to Beauregard and Caduceus’ frustrated tears as spell after spell failed were all muffled with the thumping of her heart and all she could think anymore was to fight, to tear into Lucien with all of her power and then some.

She had no clue how long she stood there hacking into him, how long she tracked him, how often Cree healed, how often the others attacked… She had no clue whether the frozen drops on her skin were her tears or her blood, or the blood of the empty man, no clue how much damage she had taken, though she guessed a lot. All she knew to do anymore was cut into he who wore the face of her best friend, he who had taken her Beauregard away from her, he that would not survive this fucking fight.

As she dug into his chest, pinning him to the ground in a way that she should have known was familiar by the look in Caleb’s eyes, Lucien’s face curled up in a wicked scowl, Cree’s scream now penetrating Yasha’s rage. A sudden urge to throw up crawled into her body as this purple face was excruciatingly familiar in death, her hands now shaking. The coldness on her skin was now definitely tears, at the very least a salt-heavy mix.

With a brief look about her, she saw Jester kneeled over Beauregard’s body, desperation painted across her face as she clutched a diamond, crying, a green glow around her struggling to collect; she saw Fjord, swinging at the remaining Tombtakers, nursing an open shoulder, brows more furrowed than Yasha had ever seen; she saw Veth, shooting left and right, pushing through the field and into enemy lines, breaking them apart expertly; she saw Caleb, flinging low-level spells as he sobbed through the mutterings of his spells, exhausted and emptied of his components and largest capacities; she saw Caduceus pouring a potion into Beau as if trying to aid, hands as gentle as always but more insecure and cautious than ever before.

Her friends needed her. She could not help but feel responsible for their situation, but what else could she have done, leave Beauregard behind? This was too important to feel sorry about. Perhaps she had not made the wisest choices, but she had gotten Lucien down, cut him to a pulp, pinned him to the ground encased by the jagged frozen chunks of his own blood.

So she kept swinging.

It wasn’t long before Cree was down; she had used up almost all of her spells on Lucien and had been looking rough already. Otis soon followed at the hand of one of Veth’s arrows along with Tyffial who went down in a flash of flames, Caleb looking on over his burning body, determined and unphased. Yasha felt a second wind as she found a welcome and sour understanding in Caleb’s eyes as she swung at Zoran, the last one left standing, but he also did not last long – or perhaps time was no longer relevant to Yasha as she swung her Skingorger so wildly that she didn’t feel the endless battle.

With the last bursts of her rage, Yasha had to cut into her palm to keep herself going. She had to get to Beauregard, she had to make sure it had been worth it. As she crumbled to her knees by the side of the woman in blue, her robes now dark shades of earth as her blood soaked through her garments, there was a deafening silence, filled with nothing more but the sobs coming out of her chest that she had not quite noticed before. Her white hair that was now stained a deep pink fell around her shoulders, a gentle blue hand finding its way to squeeze her aching arm as Yasha’s breath picked up once again, the barbarian now no longer in control or able to delay the course of nature.

Every hitched breath dug into her chest and as she felt her rage give way to grief and pure hurt, she felt her vision blur.

Her instincts quickly took over and her bloodied fingers found their way around Beauregard’s face, their foreheads meeting as hollowed blue eyes met her mismatched pair, and a chuckle of relief found its way through her sobs as with her final conscious seconds Yasha poured the last bit of her life force into her never-been lover.

A large lifeless body now fell into Beauregard, and her no-longer-existing sobs were replaced by the striking of lightning and the hoarse cries of a small blue tiefling yet again desperately crying her name, traumatized and numb fingers the colour of burnt clay holding her face, shaking her more and more violently as if to bring her back to life. Spells were cast to no avail as a champion was welcomed within the storm brewing nearby.

The lightning had never been an answer, it had been a call to come home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for joining me in this pain. I am so sorry.


End file.
